All Or Nothing
by NotFlyingWithOtters
Summary: AU FIC: Sherlock and John are opposing barristers on a case that will make or break their careers. The case of Jim Moriarty.
1. Chapter 1

**AU Fic: Sherlock and John are opposing barristers on a case that will make or break their careers. The case of Jim Moriarty.**

**Beta'd by the lovely Charli and proofread by my lovely Flo**

John Watson was sat at his desk, hair slightly overlong and irritating him by flopping in his eyes as he ran a hand through it. His secretary, Sarah, wandered in through the glass door and threw a file on his desk.

"You're wanted." He looked at her askance.

"I don't get a choice?"

"No. A Mr Mycroft Holmes requested you specifically for this case. John you're one of the most competent barristers in London. He asked for you by name." John narrowed his eyes as he eyed up the thick file on his desk.

"Am I getting paid?" Sarah nodded and pointed to an envelope on top if the file.

"Half in advance." John opened the envelope and choked on his coffee.

"This is half?" He wiped his mouth weakly. "Jesus." Sarah nodded.

"He wants results John. He told me to tell you that." She nodded once, pulled her blouse down, smoothed her skirt and sidled out of the room.

"Sarah wait." He called after her, finally picking up the file and weighing it out in his hands with a grimace.

"What is it?"

"Am I building a case for or against..." He studied the front of the file and memorised the name. "Mr Jim Moriarty?"

"Against. I'm told it's simple."

"You would say that." He muttered and flipped open the front of the file.

"What?"

"Nothing. Make me a coffee would you please?" He smiled and she warmed a little.

"Of course, milk and no sugar right?"

"Right. Thanks Sarah." He smiled, which quickly turned to a pained frown when she left as he attempted to make sense of the file in his hands.

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><p>In another office on the other side of the city, a tall man was sat at his desk, hands clasped and fingers steepled together with his curly black hair flopping over his eyes. He appeared not to notice the young secretary enter the room, pink lipstick carefully applied to her lips and a soft dusting of foundation on her cheeks.<p>

She was a soft beauty; her long brown hair was tied back and trailed down past her shoulder blades, her white blouse secured around her chest with pearlescent buttons. The blazer she was wearing was a deep black and had a few badges pinned on the lapel, an anti-cancer one, a Great Ormond Street Hospital one and her name badges, the enamelled surface glittering under the bright lighting. She was carrying a file, identical to the one lying on John's desk on the other side of London.

"Mr Holmes?" She ventured, placing the file softly down on the lacquered surface of the desk.

"My brother is Mr Holmes, Molly." He removed his hands and clasped them loosely on his lap, twining fingers together. He was strikingly handsome, and Molly could feel a blush rising.

"Sorry. Sherlock." She stammered.

"You're wearing make-up..." His gaze fixed on her and she felt suddenly uncomfortable.

"No I... Refreshed it." He nods, still gazing at her.

"Suits you." He then turned his attention to the file on the desk. "Who?"

"Jim Moriarty." She looked away.

"I assume I'm building a case for him, judging by your reaction. I also assume it's difficult." None of his words were questions.

"Everyone knows what he did... It is impossible that he gets off." Sherlock observed her with a faint smile.

"I'll be fine." He flicked it open and skimmed the first few pages before he realised Molly was still stood there. "What is it?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to get a drink... After work." He cocked his head to one side.

"No need, I'll be working through the night today." He turned his head back to the file and she took this as her signal to be dismissed.

"I'll see you later then." She felt she was talking to herself more than him, and reached for the door.

"Molly, who am I to be against?" He asked as she reached the door handle. She turned and smiled, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face.

"Sorry I forgot to say, John Watson. After you he's the best barrister in London. Your brother appointed him." Sherlock leaned back and steepled his fingers again.

"My brother appointed him? Interesting..." His eyes lost the light that meant he was concentrating on her, and Molly slipped out of the room.

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><p>"Sarah?" John asked as he wrapped a scarf around his neck and shrugged his coat on.<p>

"Yes?" She was buttoning her coat and turned to look at him.

"Who's representing Mr Moriarty as the defendant?" He slid his hands into his pockets and shivered as the cool air rushed past him.

"Oh? Didn't I mention? Sherlock Holmes."

"What?" John's face fell. Sherlock Holmes, renowned as the best barrister in London was against him?

"Is that a problem?" John's eyes widened.

"A... A problem? Sarah don't you..." He stopped and shrugged. "Never mind. I'll see you tomorrow."

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><p>Across the river, Sherlock Holmes stood in his office, papers strewn all around. He had a page open on his laptop. John Watson, it seemed, was quietly famous. He let out a soft laugh and continued with sorting his paperwork. He smirked as the screen finally loaded. John Watson's blog. The man blogged his cases, the wins and the losses. He blogged it all. Only after the results had been released to the press of course. He was very by the book, very legal. Sherlock smiled, if everyone knew the key to his success was something highly illegal he'd be ruined.<p>

Brought down in flames, probably put in prison for years. But Mycroft was always on side to make sure that didn't happen. Sometimes he hated his brother, actually, most times he hated his brother, but he had his uses. Sherlock closed the page and read through the sheaves of paper all around him. The name jumped out at him, five syllables burned into his retinas. He was reading evidence, becoming consumed. And that was how it worked, how he worked; and he loved it.

**I hope you liked it, I will update as often as I can.  
><strong>**Drop me a line if you liked it~**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! My muse strikes at odd times. Mostly during school. Anyway I'm sat here with my mug of Green Tea and though I'd give you an update**

**Chapter 2**

**Enjoy (:**

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><p>John was turning the pages of his case notes, the order of witnesses page, when Sarah arrived with a large cup of coffee from Starbucks and a paper bag that smelled of pastry. She placed both of them on John's desk and waited for him to acknowledge her. It took less than three seconds for him to look up and smile at her.<p>

"Thank God for you Sarah; what on earth would I do without you?"

"Starve, most likely." She shot back, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. He laughed softly, lifting the cup up and sipping it, feeling slightly refreshed. She left the room again and he stared at the file he'd prepared, ready to meet the police officer in charge of witnesses and collaborating evidence in the case.

_Lestrade._ He smiled as he read the name; he and the grey haired detective were close, and had worked together on a lot of cases with positive results. The police officer had always been a good friend of John's and they went way back: John had been there for him when his wife had left him, and Lestrade had helped him through all his relationships and break ups. It was a relief to be working with a friend of his, and he closed the file, feeling marginally better about his prospects, not that they were ever in doubt. He stood and stretched, placing his palms on his knees before straightening and carefully scooping up his file and striding out of the room. Sarah smiled at him as he slipped from the building and into the weak spring sunshine.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was yelling at Anderson, turning his head to insult the forensics scientist, who was, in fact wrong. He had told him everything that was wrong with him and also asked him not to speak. A few of the officers around them were looking away awkwardly and Sally, who Sherlock had insulted before moving onto Anderson was quietly fuming, and the newest member to the team was in tears in the corner of the room. Sherlock turned and walked away, satisfied that he'd finished with Anderson. He went to walk through the door to the outside world, but caught his name being muttered, so turned his head as he wandered through the doors. He didn't notice John coming through the door and tripped, splaying files everywhere. He growled softly in his throat, looking up from the floor at the man who had tripped him. John Watson, his opponent.<p>

"I'm so sorry, here, let me help." John carefully sank to his knees and started collecting folders and sheafs of paper.

"It's... It's fine." Sherlock looked at John properly, finding him simultaneously easy to read and also difficult. John handed him the stack of paper he'd collected, before noticing that he'd missed one. Sherlock and he reached for it at the same moment and the side of their hands brushed minutely. Sherlock kept a straight face, but inside his heart had lurched a little. Curious.

"There." John looked a little flushed and held out his hand. "Sorry about that; but it was nice to make your acquaintance before the trial."

"I could say the same." He took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. "I'll see you in court, Mister Watson."

"Good day to you Mister Holmes." John released the taller man's hand and strode inside, his pulse racing, though with nerves or arousal he wasn't sure.

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><p>Lestrade pulled John into a brief hug when he walked into his office.<p>

"John." He smiled at John and then turned and sat behind his desk. "You want all the details of the witnesses I assume? They've agreed to testify in court." John nodded once, standing in the office and staring out the window at London far below and stretching out all around. There was a low lying mist around, car headlights breaking it almost constantly as the sun began to burn it off. The view from the office was spectacular, there was no denying that. Greg had joined him and was standing a little behind him, looking over John's shoulder.

"I know." He turned to look at Greg, his face puzzled. "Some days it looks so peaceful you can't believe that some of the crimes that happen do." John nods, a little taken aback by Greg's outburst; but then Greg was a man of simple pleasures. A closet recovering alcoholic, with John's help of course, the detective often had a hard time finding good in the world. John smiled at him.

"I see what you mean." Greg nodded, turning away from the scene.

"Some days I love London, other days I can't bear it." John turned back to the desk and picked up all the paperwork Greg had given him. Greg was still staring out the window, which John recognised as a danger symptom.

"If you need me, call me." He told the detective, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"What?" Lestrade shook himself from the trance state he'd been in.

"You know what I mean." Lestrade nodded and held out his hand for John to shake.

"Thank you, John."

"What are friends for? After the trial I suggest going out, whatever the verdict, God knows I'll need it." Lestrade's face crinkled into a smile.

"I'll see you in court." John looked a little surprised.

"You're testifying?"

"Defence added me to the testifying list this morning. I have a revised list if you need it."

"It should have been faxed through to me by the time I get back." He tells him, his heart sinking. Lestrade and he normally chewed over the case each day during the trial; and now he couldn't. "I'll see you after the trial."

"Good idea, I've got a day to read over case notes before I'm testifying." John nods and walks out of the room, the file clutched in one hand.

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><p>Sherlock is staring at the police station, standing on the roof of the building opposite, his coat flapping around him. He watches John leave and stares intently at him, feeling the tug of the breeze around him. He tilts his head slightly, deducing from where he is. He can tell by his stance that he's angry, probably because Lestrade is testifying and can't talk the trial over with him. He then realises that it's his fault, with the next immediate realisation being that he appears to care. He looks at the retreating figure on the ground and wonders what it is about John Watson that's making him feel more human than ever before.<p>

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**Much love **


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